


The Eastbound Train

by CommanderBayban



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Accidental drink spillage, Anxious Six, Awkward first meeting, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Human Sixth Doctor, Meet-Cute, Platonic Attraction, Trains, University Professor Sixth Doctor, University student Peri Brown, squish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBayban/pseuds/CommanderBayban
Summary: Who is that girl on the eastbound train and why does she make the Doctor so darn anxious?!
Relationships: Peri Brown & Sixth Doctor, Peri Brown/Sixth Doctor
Kudos: 4





	The Eastbound Train

He saw her every weekday.

On that 7:30 eastbound train.

As soon as it entered the station, he would sit in his favourite car in his favourite seat by the window and crack open a book in the budding sunlight.

He’d check his watch and, like clockwork, three minutes later she’d be passing his seat: one hand grasping onto the straps of her backpack and the other carrying a varying array of accessories—mainly textbooks—but sometimes they were plant presses or even a steaming cup of joe.

She’d give him a sweet smile and, like clockwork, his heart would pang and he’d stare longingly out the window watching the trees and hills roll by. One certainly couldn’t read with their mind all in a flutter!

Fellow passengers would enter and comment, “You must be the happiest man alive this Monday morning” or “I’ll have whatever you’ve got!” or some variation thereof, and (with a twinkle in his eye) he’d simply sigh and give a response that sounded straight out of a Shelley poem.

Some number of days went by—possibly a week or two—and yet the only interaction they had were in the form of simple, passing glances and cursory smiles. He wondered if she, too, wanted to initiate further correspondence, take things a step further, but was perhaps...feeling the same way as he did.

At random times during the day and night (when he wasn’t filling his head with literature analysis or any other erudite thoughts), he’d stare up at the ceiling or through the break room wall and conjure up images of her in his head. That endearing, beaming little countenance of hers that radiated like the sun. The way her brunette tresses fell over her forehead and swished back and forth as she walked. The dedication she had to her schooling! No, there was nothing that caught his attention more than a bright, studious individual.

But, gosh.

He couldn’t help but feel absolutely foolish.

He had no qualms against speaking his mind when it came to department funding or how classes should be run; no issue reciting dramatic monologues in front of an audience of strangers; no concern about the inevitable stares he’d receive each and every time he graced the city streets with his presence. But yet here he was—afraid to talk to the girl on the eastbound train.

 _No,_ he thought, knitting his brow and flipping open his book.

_Tomorrow shall be different._

~~~~

That evening, the sun had already embarked on its downward trend and the station, albeit not empty, was practically devoid of any foot traffic compared to the morning hours. Patches of guests stood about the platform, some entirely preoccupied with themselves while others took brief moments to peoplewatch between repeatedly checking their watches.

The Doctor took a seat on the sturdy, old, wooden bench in front of the tracks and waited for the westbound train to arrive. Sipping on his delightfully fruity boba tea, he crossed his legs at the ankle and started to read, but found that his eyes kept glazing over the words.

He tapped his foot against the gum-studded pavement and restarted at the top of the page, but now he couldn't even get himself to look at the book! Then his hands began to numb: not in the way that would make anyone fear for their life, but rather as if there was some invisible, unknown force forcing him to be nervous about something.

With a sigh, the Doctor placed the book back into the front pocket of his leather satchel. His eyes began to dart around, his mind filling with a million (more) thoughts...How wonderful it was that the bench he sat upon had recently been varnished! Just look at the way it glistened in the warm, dim light! Oh, how nice it was to see them taking care of the station.

And that tree! It had grown but an inch since last week despite always looking scrawny and half dead! Nature truly is a marvel…

He took another gulp of his tea before reclining back in his seat, folding his hands upon his chest. _Why am I so nervous for goodness sake? It’s not like there’s—_

_Wait._

_It can’t be…?_

Dodging a group of chatty teens who entered his field of vision, the Doctor narrowed his sights on a familiar face who stood off to his left. A young lady with thick, shoulder-length hair wearing a blue plaid-patterned blouse, forest green skirt, and black heels. Both of her hands were clasped behind her back as she slowly swayed her hips, her skirt billowing with every rotation.

His heart started to flutter to match the butterflies that had now made a home in his stomach. What was she doing here? Never before had he seen her so late in the day, but perhaps this meant something? Discretion may be the better part of valour, but

_Why wait for tomorrow_

_What one can do today?_

He adjusted his necktie, cleared his throat, and took to his feet. Each step felt like it was happening in slow motion; like he was stuck in his own personal wormhole while the world around him moved at regular speed.

But soon the girl’s features became more and more distinguished, like the presence of a necklace that glimmered in the evening light. And, oddly, with each approaching step a butterfly flitted away.

_She’s just a girl, Doctor. A regular, harmless girl. There’s no need to panic. Your unrelenting charm and charisma will obviously win her over, as they always do! That is, of course, why every student enrolled in the university swarms to your office at one point or another during their studies, even if they're majoring in basket weaving and have never taken a class of yours in their life._

__

_Right, enough of that. There she is now…remember..._ charm and charisma... 

“Excuse, me, mi— _oof!”_

In an instant his foot collided with an uneven crack in the pavement, sending himself—and his drink—tumbling towards the unsuspecting girl. Terror overtook his face, not just because the cup was soaring like a well-operated missile towards his crush, but also because of _his_ public humiliation! Oh, how one’s ego could be bruised so easily...

Keeping one foot steady on the ground and his body rigid, he narrowly escaped an embarrassing tumble. A small exhale passed through his lips, but as he glanced up he noticed his muse was anything but lucky. She was completely drenched from the waist down and was standing in a stochastic puddle of onyx tapioca pearls.

“Oh, I’m soaked through!” she whimpered, stomping her foot.

The Doctor felt the blood drain from his face.

Now would be a great time to panic.

“I’m _so_ sorry!” he lamented, holding his hands up to his chest in pure and utter guilt, “Let me—”

“No, it’s fine!” she replied. As her eyes met his, her expression turned from embarrassment to that of shock. Her eyes were large and doe-like, and almost seemed to twinkle, “I—it’s you…”

“I assure you that I never engage in such abhorrent acts of incompetence on a daily basis—,” The Doctor was apparently still confused about what to do with his hands, but his stomach churned and his chest tightened in a way that demanded he make himself scarce.

The girl couldn’t help but laugh, “ _Incompetence?_ It was only an accident!”

“No, I don’t believe you understand the magnitude of this situation—”

She placed her hands in his, their fingers intertwining, “It’s _fine, really!_ An accident! _”_

The Doctor felt his face become flush with crimson and took a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yes, yes, you’re right,” he said, clearing his throat, “An accident.”

He tried his hardest to appear stoic and unmoved, but instead he had completely frozen, staring off into the distance with wide eyes and knitted brows. The young woman waved her hand and tried to get his attention with a series of call words, but to no avail.

But from the deluge of thoughts of regret and embarrassment that flooded his head, he could faintly hear her say, “I’ll be right back”.

Or, at least, that’s what he imagined her saying.

But that had to be a good sign, right? She could’ve left without a trace! She could’ve dashed off the moment she received that unexpected shower! She—she could’ve slapped him!

Oh, that miserable uneven crack in the pavement! Does no one care about the general maintenance of public property anymore?

 _I could’ve_ died! _And where would that have left me!?_

“Still brooding over your _‘abhorrent display of incompetence’_?”, she joked, returning to the man who had stood idle for the entire duration of her respite. His face still suspended in a state of repugnance.

“What?” He said, darting his attention over to her, “ _Me? Brooding?_ Never.”

She crossed her arms and smirked.

The Doctor huffed, “If it wasn’t for that wretched crack on the ground, _you_ wouldn’t have to traipse around smelling like the personified version of a potpourri, and _I_ wouldn’t have been publicly humiliated for having made it happen!”

“Publicly humiliated?” she repeated.

“Didn’t you hear the laughing? Those insufferable children over there? Hm?” He pointed at the group in question and, upon realising that 'the clown' was gesticulating in their direction, they leaned in and snickered amongst themselves.

She laughed breathily, “You can’t be serious. They’re _teenagers_ —they still laugh at toilet humor. And anyway,” she sized up the tall, blond fellow, finally taking in the composition of those gaudy, mix-matched clothes he always wore, “With that outfit, I don’t see how you’re not used to being humiliated already!”

He mentally waved away the slight, “In regards to my sartorial taste, I don’t particularly _care_ what _they_ think, but when it comes to you...you’re—” he sighed, “You’re _different_.”

“ _Different?_ But you don’t even know me.”

“Ah, now you will have to bestow that honour upon me, now won’t you?”

Their eyes met once more and, this time, it was her whose cheeks flushed with red velvet.

“Oh, um, I’m the Doctor,” he said, extending a hand.

“Doctor…?”

“Just _the Doctor_ ,” he smiled.

“Ookay...well, I’m Peri,” she gave his hand a firm squeeze.

“ _Peri…_ ” he repeated as if a long-lost memory had found its way back into his consciousness.

“My real name’s Perpugilliam, but my friends call me Peri.”

His heart fluttered at the sudden confession, “Perpugilliam—a rather peculiar name. You can almost say it's... _different!_ ”

“I—I guess…”

With one smooth, suave motion, the Doctor checked the hour, “I believe we have a bit of time before the train arrives. Shall we sit?”

~~~~

On that old, varnished bench they decided to rest; the Doctor stretched his arm over top of the chair's backrest and turned to face his new friend with bright eyes and a bushy tail. Peri peeped the cover of a battered, yellow book peeking out from his front satchel pocket. A bookmark was placed somewhere near the back half.

“ _The Scarlet Pimpernel_?” she said.

He followed her eyes to where she was gazing, “Ah, yes. A most thrilling read. You see, it’s a story about an English aristocrat who saves…(he notices Peri rolling her eyes playfully) What?”

“I _have_ read the book before, Doctor. And the sequels.”

He blinked, “Oh. Have you? Well then…”

“I’m surprised you haven’t! It’s practically a classic!”

“Not _practically_ , Peri. It _is_! _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ single-handedly created the masked hero trope. And I’ll have you know that this is, in fact, my _third_ time reading it.”

Peri made an “ok” sign with her hand and held it to her eye like the magnifying glass Percy Blakeley so often glanced through, “Sink meh!,” she said in an affected English accent, “I had no idea!”

The Doctor imitated another one of Percy’s lines and they both shared a hearty laugh.

Peri patted down her still damp skirt and glanced coyly at the Doctor from the corner of her eye, “You know, Doctor...there _is_ one way you can make this up to me,”

“Name it,”

“I—I just remembered that you were reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_ the other day...and they've just come out with a new film…”

“And you want me to take you?”

“If you want...I mean, you don’t have to,” her voice trembled ever so slightly.

A wide closed-lip grin spread across the Doctor’s face as he poked the tip of Peri’s nose, “The pleasure would be all mine,”

Just then the deep, resonating call of a horn echoed throughout the station as the train slowly chuffed in. Before Peri could react, the Doctor rose to his feet and offered his arm to the young lady who gladly embraced the opportunity to be escorted by such a _unique_ individual.

~~~~

Not one moment of silence was had between the two for the entire ride. It was mainly the Doctor who did all the talking, but still, they managed to learn quite a bit about each other. Apparently, they both spent their weekdays at university, and despite their differing skill sets (he, a professor in the English department and she, a student of botany) they had a lot more in common than one would imagine!

But, to their chagrin, tonight's journey couldn’t last forever.

As they both stepped off the train to go their separate ways for the night, Peri opted to forgo a ‘goodbye’. Instead she gave the Doctor a warm embrace and a ‘see you later!’ before running off with a cheerful wave.

The Doctor held up a hand and sighed wistfully. There she went again, that girl from the eastbound train. His only regret was not speaking to her sooner.


End file.
